Casualty of Casual Love
by TheLostShephard
Summary: -"One could be so alive at one moment and then just barely hanging on at the next, and some how, when that last glow was fading, when that faint spark of hope was just about to die… it would all come back to life." Charlie's POV. Seq. to Love Me Stranger.


"_There is no 'before,' Charlie. We were two strangers on a plane who became friends. That's all."_

"_Yeah, and Locke's your friend now."_

"_Charlie, please. I just need some time, okay? Just leave me be."_

* * *

"_Charlie! What the hell is wrong with you?!"_

"_It's Aaron… I was trying to save him…I didn't hurt him… he's okay."_

"_Don't you understand? You're hurting _me, _Charlie!"_

_

* * *

_

Charlie had replayed these conversations over and over to himself a hundred times in the past few days, and it hurt more every time. The intensity of the anger and the pain in her eyes cut through him like a knife. It was almost more than he could bear.  
Locke may have hit him several times and left him in the water, but he didn't feel it. It did not cross his mind that Locke had physically hurt him—only that he had stolen the one thing that he had found value in.

Claire had slapped him once and it was the end of the world. When he thought about it, he could still her voice ringing in his ears, and he could feel the sharp sting on his cheek.

Physical pain was nothing compared to what he felt in knowing that she despised him. And even more, that he probably deserved it.

At the beginning of the week, he'd been angry with everyone. He kept to himself (not that he had any other choice). He wanted revenge. He had been inconsolable, foolish, and unreasonable. He had done a few things that he already wished he hadn't.

Now Charlie realized that he really only had one person to be upset with, and that was he himself. He was the only one who would be held accountable for the things he'd done. He could have done it all differently. He could have told her straight away and not lied to her. Would she have liked it? Of course not. Would she still have gotten mad at him? Possibly... probably. But at least they would have had a chance to talk about it. He would have had a valid argument, and a reason to state it.  
Even better, he could have left the statue at the plane where he'd found it. That way this whole mess wouldn't have even started. He should have just left it alone…. But he didn't.

He had succeeded in keeping as busy as possible these last few days, but it didn't matter how hard he worked in the day, he still had trouble falling asleep at night. So, he worked days, and reflected at night. He looked worse for wear at the end of the week.

During his long hours of reflection, Charlie had come to a few bold and final conclusions:

The first was that he had changed since they came to the Island—to what extent and better or worse was a different story. He hoped for the better. Either way, he certainly had changed. He no longer needed the drugs to keep him high. He did not need to brag about DriveShaft in order to feel important or that he belonged somewhere. He was not angry with the world anymore.

He had found a place where his money, title, and status did not matter. He was welcome. He had true friends. He _belonged_. No one really cared much about whom and what he had been or what he had done before the Island. It didn't matter. They each had accepted one another in order to survive, in the beginning. Now it went further than that, to the point of true affection and comradeship. People here truly cared for each other. There were no hidden agendas or ulterior motives—unless you were Sawyer—but even then, the notorious conman from Tennessee was coming to terms with the fact that people didn't actually hate him (though he tried hard to make them), he was useful, and maybe, just _maybe_ he could get used to that.

Charlie also decided that before he could ask Claire's forgiveness, before he could expect her forgiveness, he would have to forgive himself. Because if he was constantly feeling guilty and putting himself down, how could he hope for anything else from her? He knew he'd done wrong, but that was in the past. He needed to move on.

The final, most important, and probably the most dangerous conclusion he came to at the end of the week was that he loved Claire. What he felt toward her now was unlike anything he had ever felt before. Sure, he'd had his fair share of girlfriends in the past, but this was different. He _really_ loved her. He loved her enough to wait as long as it took. Maybe one day she would realize that he _had_ changed... all because of her. Maybe one day he would be worthy of her friendship, her affections, and her love.

Suppose that he tried to prove himself, and she still wanted nothing to do with him? What then? Well, it would be hard. It would be very hard. But he thought he loved her enough to let her go.

* * *

Charlie sighed, ran his fingers through his unruly hair and swung his legs over the edge of his makeshift cot. He hadn't been able to sleep that night, as usual. He had hoped that once he had sorted things out in his head, maybe he'd finally be able to catch a wink of sleep, but so far, he hadn't had any such luck… and it was already after midnight.  
He had hesitated on acting upon the idea before, for various reasons, but now perhaps it was time to trouble Jack for a few sleeping pills. He didn't know how much longer he would last on the very few minutes he _did_ sleep at dawn every morning.

He yawned as he stood up. His body was tired, but his mind rebelled.

Charlie rubbed his eyes and peered across the beach to where the silhouettes of shelters could be seen in the dancing firelight.

He and Sawyer shared a small shelter a ways away from the rest of the camp. They were the outcasts, for the moment, not really liked by anyone.

Sawyer was on watch duty for the earlier part of the night—mostly just because they were short on manpower, and even though no one trusted him that much, they still knew that he was one of them. He was a good fighter.

Charlie recalled hearing that Jack was on tonight's late night/early morning shift, and he was glad to see Sawyer coming back from his post.

"Still not sleepin', Chucky?" Sawyer asked as he plopped down onto his bed.

Charlie shook his head. "Mhm. I thought I'd go sit by the fire and have a talk with Jack."

"That'll put you right under." Sawyer said with half a grin. "Good luck."

Charlie smiled but said nothing more as he started walking down the beach.

"Jack..." Charlie said, just loud enough for the doctor to hear him. "Mind if I, um…" He shifted uncomfortably, "Mind if I sit out here a while?"

"Not at all," Jack said, motioning to a larger log that was close but not _too_ close to the fire. "Have a seat, make yourself at home."  
A doctor's job here was never done, apparently. Tonight he was doctor, camp counselor, and night watchman. Hell… by the end of the night he might even have the title of _matchmaker._ Jack ran his fingers through his hair and asked: "Having trouble sleeping?"

"Something like that." Charlie nodded. "I was actually wondering if you had any sleeping pills—I haven't slept much all week."

"Ah." said Jack, "I'll check. Just uh, keep an eye on things out here. I'll be back in a minute." He stood up and walked back to his tent. He returned a few minutes later with two of the requested pills. "Here," he said, handing them to Charlie, "Don't take them till you're back at your tent though. They should work pretty quickly."

Charlie shifted the toe of his shoe awkwardly in the sand. "Thanks, Jack." He said, without raising his eyes.

Jack nodded as he poked the fire back to life. It was clear that Charlie had something else on his mind (Jack was pretty sure that he knew what), but it was also obvious that the former rock star was more than a little uneasy. Jack didn't want to make him more uncomfortable so he didn't say anything, hoping that Charlie would talk.

Charlie was also silent for several long minutes, watching the embers of the fire glow, dim, and slowly glow again as the mid-night breeze breathed through the burning logs. Life on the Island was like those embers—one could be so alive at one moment and then just barely hanging on at the next, and some how, when that last glow was fading, when that faint spark of hope was just about to die… it would all come back to life. Sometimes those embers had more energy burning through them the last time than they did the first time. This was his life. Round and round it went—it would never end.

Jack cleared his throat and Charlie jumped at the unexpected sound. He realized that he had been quiet for too long, and that Jack was probably waiting for him to either start a conversation or to wish him a good night and head back to bed.

"How's, um," Charlie paused, hoping that this wouldn't be one more regret "how's Claire?"

"She's doing alright." Jack replied. He had been expecting this to come up, but he had hoped that it wouldn't be the first thing. _Oh well_. Now he could only hope that he didn't end up putting his foot in his mouth.

Charlie nodded. "Yeah… yeah. She seems to be getting along just fine."

Jack felt the bitterness in Charlie's voice. "Hey… I wouldn't give up now if I were you."

Charlie looked up, meeting Jack's gaze with a raised brow.

Jack understood the look and he shrugged. "Just a hunch I've got. Claire doesn't hate you, Charlie. It hasn't been easy for her here. She's just struggling with some things right now. She needs time to figure them out. And if you wait just a little while longer, I think… I think she'll come around."

"_But I _want _to help her; I want to _be_ there for her!" _The voice inside his head argued raged, fighting. _"I'm supposed to be there for her! God-damnit, I _love_ her…" _His outward countenance remained calm, however, except the flicker that that had gleamed for a moment when Jack had begun to speak.

"Look, I know how you feel, believe me. I really do." Jack watched the other man sympathetically. "I know that it's easier to say than it is to do." He continued gently "But—"

"Thanks, Jack." Charlie cut him off abruptly. "I think I'll take a stroll around and then get to bed. Really though, Jack…" Charlie held out his hand and Jack, surprised as he was, still had the presence of mind to take it. "Thanks for everything."

"Sure, Charlie, anytime." Jack said as he watched Charlie disappear into the dark. He shook his head and wondered at the intense complexity of human emotions… _how in the world had he survived this long?_

* * *

Charlie wasn't sure where he was going or why he was still walking. He had circled the camp half a dozen times already, and he still couldn't make himself go back to his tent. He had to though, because in a few hours it would be dawn. And then an hour or so after that, someone would come and wake him up, asking him to help with one thing or another and his day would begin… same as it had every other day.

He had stopped at Claire's tent with every pass. His heart pounded furiously as he'd stood and watched her sleep. He would stay for a few minutes and then walk again, arguing with himself until he was back where he had begun. It was the strangest sense of calm and clarity that he felt when he was there, and if he stayed too long it drove him mad.

As soon as he thought he had calmed down enough, Charlie finally went back to his tent. He was careful not to wake Sawyer as he walked around him. He looked at the pills that Jack had given him and he sighed. _"The things we go through for love."  
_

Jack was correct—the pills _did_ work quickly. Charlie was asleep within fifteen minutes of taking them, and he didn't wake up again until the next evening.


End file.
